


sororicide

by sophthebi



Category: Halloween (2018), Halloween Movies - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study, F/M, Implied/Referenced Incest, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Michael Myers POV, Michael Myers character study, Michael Myers obsession with judith, Murder, Obsession, POV Michael, Rape/Non-con Elements, Stalking, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:53:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27189617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sophthebi/pseuds/sophthebi
Summary: Even death wouldn't free his sister. He'd make her relive it, one way or another.
Relationships: Michael Myers & Allyson Nelson, Michael Myers & Judith Myers, Michael Myers & Laurie Strode, Michael Myers/Allyson Nelson
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	sororicide

**Author's Note:**

> This is quite a dark fic, not in the sense that there's a lot of violence or anything of that nature, I tried to keep that subtle (or so I hope so haha) but I've never actually done a pov like this.  
> I wanted to sort of a do a character study of Michael and why he kills, this is just my theory and opinion of him I think he sort of just goes around wanting to relive the night he killed Judith, and to me there is a sexual thing about him, the way he kills and who he kills. It's morbid but interesting to me.  
> There is implied rape and incest in this fic, so be warned.  
> Hope everyone is safe and well. <33

_Judith’s hair was always soft and brushed _, falling over delicate shoulders and an arched back. Every night, by her vanity, she’d thread gentle fingers through the light brown strands, sometimes wet from a shower, dewy and seeping into her skin.__

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The granddaughter’s hair wasn’t much different, unkept but long and brown and healthy, smelling of a simple product, _how a young girl’s hair should smell _, Michael thought to himself.__

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He didn’t give away his consciousness, not that either of them would notice, people always missed the small things of him, of the _Shape _. The _Bogeyman _.____

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She looked too much like Judith and yet not enough. 

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It was his greatest regret, that night. So much waste. There was no going back to that moment. It couldn’t be done again, he had tried. He really had tried. All short moments of ecstasy, never long-lasting. The closest he got was the babysitter, a different kind of ecstasy, blood warm and slick from her throat after he had slit it. But even that wasn’t enough. 

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If only he’d waited, strong enough to do more with so little time. 

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He had panicked the night he killed Judith, that knife going into her over and over. He wanted to be in its place. She had fallen so fast, gone in a glimpse below him. He often daydreamed about her, furthered that dream into so many possibilities. 

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He himself had hair like Judith’s, age had taken it away of course. Soft and fluffy, he used to play with it at night, thread his fingers through it imagining it was hers, eyes open but not seeing. The little squeals erupting from her throat, her heaving chest.

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He wanted to touch the girl next to him, her neck, her face, her arms, it didn’t matter, but he had a virtue, a virtue age had gifted him, a gift being institutionalised had given him. There was always a better time. 

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He dealt with the doctor, poor old fool. 

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Michael did what he did best, killed without thought, without memory if he lived past this night, and he would. He would.  
He remembers killing the father of the girl, bits of it in broken pieces that he’d gathered no satisfaction in, men were never satisfying. 

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Not like women were. 

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No matter their build. Strong, weak, short, tall, small or big. In his hands, they were fragile.  
Even Laurie was eventually. The daughter’s death was what unravelled his predator. His only predator. 

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Then there was the girl, the granddaughter… 

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Long brown hair, the same eyes and perfect height, like fate had twisted a curse into existence on the fierce Strode.  
Her daughters his.  
Afterall, he and Strode were always alike. He thinks that’s what scared her most, left her a hollowed woman, left her with nothing but trauma, a trauma that would descend into her lineage. Collective and immortalised, like the very engravings in his sister’s tombstone. 

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He wouldn’t make that mistake again. 

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Something Michael had never considered was how easy it was to grab long hair, grip it tight and hard. She couldn’t get far, screaming and crying, not unlike her grandmother during that night in ’78. It was cold outside, but he was on fire, holding her struggling body close to his. She was warm like Judith; bare flesh was always warm. 

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Dragged in the dirt, pleading for help and grieving for her family. It wasn’t what he had wanted, always outside forces preventing it from being that night, but it would do.  
If only she’d gasp ‘Michael’ , airy and unknowing, bring small hands to her breasts as she sat huddled over her vanity. 

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But this would do. 

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Glistening of sweat, stained with bruises and scratches and earth, leaves in her hair and yet she still smelt like a young girl, that sweet adolescence. Judith smelt like that, yes, exactly like that.

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He couldn’t really remember how it started, or when it ended or how he got to the point of being half undressed, and on top of the girl who might as well have been dead for the lack of movement and breathing. 

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Her scent stuck to him, as did her sweat and spit and blood. For a moment, under moonlight, she almost looked like her … like Judith, and he smiled.

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He was inside her, and even in death she wouldn’t be free of him.

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End file.
